*
I woke oddly slow.
Some of the Bandits were arguing in one of the steady hologram feeds we'd set up to stay in contact. A necessity so that as soon as we were discovered, everyone would know.
“They should go in with a Five Man Act,” Patrick argued. “It's versatile.”
They had obviously been arguing for a while. I frowned as I sat up, wondering how I could have slept through the ruckus. A time check had me scrambling. There was so much to do.
The remnants of the white noise spell someone had put on me broke completely beneath my movements and I stared at the dissipating spell in outrage. Axer was nowhere to be seen, but Constantine was at our makeshift desk working on something. His only acknowledgment of my waking was that he pushed out a chair on the other side of the table with his foot.
“Old Man and a Fireband would be better,” Loudon said, as he looked up from where he was building the second of three recycling explosives. A long trail of soot ran down his face and colored a quarter of his short golden curls. “People will cheer the show for at least a minute before they realize they should be screaming.”
“Both too flashy.” Dagfinn shook his head. “Just let me darken the site.”
“Yeah, because that won't cause any alarms, the entire grid block of Crelussa going out.” Asafa snorted and helped Loudon carefully wrap a band around the second explosive—his own hair even spikier than usual after the electric shock he'd received wrapping the first.
Dagfinn shrugged. “Blame it on the lingering shifts. Hi, Ren.”
Glances skittered my way and I waved as they chorused their hellos.
“The Layer Equibs are getting fretful enough as it is,” Patrick said, continuing the argument.
“I thought we made a pact with them?” Loudon said.
“Yeah. But they are antsy little shivits. I've half a mind to level them, but the Queen'd be pissed.”
“Old Man and a Firebrand would take care of that,” Loudon said in a singsong voice.
“Five Man Act,” Patrick insisted.
“Three Man Sneak,” Constantine bit out without looking away from his work. “Now stop speaking.”
Patrick snorted. “Three Man Sneak only works when you don't have overwrought sexual tens—”
The feed blinked out.
I looked at Constantine, and away from the piece of trap paper I was withdrawing from my portfolio. “Really?”
He threw the used magic into the recycling container we were using. It bulged at the seams, making me eye it for an extended moment before concentrating on him once more.
“Olivia's going to kill us for hanging up,” I said. “How long have you been working on this?”
Long enough to bloat that container.
Constantine wadded up another spelled chunk, pressing it into a small fingerpad mold. “I’m close. And I switched them to Alexander's feed. He’s in the untamed wilderness somewhere.” He motioned carelessly at a path of flowers leading to the thicket of trees, which were even thicker and closer than when I’d fallen asleep. “He can deal with your friends. I might kill one of them otherwise. And we unfortunately need them.”
“They are trying to help in their own...special...way.”
“We have the great Alexander Dare planning our glorious heist. We don't need a two-bit con. Old Man and a Fireband, useless,” Constantine muttered.
“What is—”
Constantine shoved a piece of rippling magic in front of me. A list of confidence games scrolled endlessly along with tiny moving holograms illustrating each.
I studied the list, catching one out of every five or so names as they passed—small descriptions popping up with each then fading like airplane messages in the wind.
Constantine noticed my absorption, because he shoved a small device that popped up an even clearer list. I figured out how to slow the list and increase the size of the holograms. There was an interactive portion that allowed me to add in my parameters and the skills and sizes of the figures, and it would manipulate the odds of a gambit working, as well as to suggest the best one based on the mages involved.
“This is awesome.”
“That device sells for a half-million munits on the black market and only works when the purchaser is alive and within ten feet. An O’Leary made it.” He gave me a look, as if to say that this should make me wary. “The family excels at the hustle. Never underestimate what they will do to gain what they want.”
I smiled. “I think that's why Olivia likes him.”
“Only because he likely understood your potential straight away and played the good-fun con. Price would have known what she was up against immediately, and the bargaining chip she possessed. The O'Leary's are excellent judges of power, and feared for their malevolent trickery. Even their youngest, dear Patrick, who appears so delightfully affable.”
“Like you?”
“I think even you calling me affable is a stretch.”
I laughed. It was a release I hadn't realized I needed. “You know what I meant.”
“You trust too much.”
“I like thinking the world is full of possibility.”
“Extend that possibility to include that someone might betray you, and see what you think.”
“The possibility that someone can become more.”
“O'Leary's family is a problem,” Constantine said resolutely, working on the next mold.
“Olivia—”
“Knows this already, and is stupidly competent most of the time. Which is why I hardly care. Still. Never forget what people will do for family and love. Desperation is an emotion many live to regret.”
I looked at the way his fingers were clenching the string. I touched the back of his hand and felt them loosen.
“I’m sorry.”
“Of course, you are.”
“I know you don’t like the idea of going after Stavros, but I didn't think you would agree with Axer, of all people, concerning the parameters of the Crelussa plan.”
Constantine hadn't even raised a single protest amidst the flurry of “you're going to do what?” responses from campus.
“You don't argue with a person who has spent forty thousand hours perfecting a craft. You don't have to like the person, but when he clearly sees a path, arguing only makes you look belligerent and stupid. You don't see him in here micromanaging me, do you? Touch this one.”
I looked at the delicate fibers he was weaving together—work that would yield success or death.
I touched the pad he indicated. When I lifted my finger, the pad stayed stuck to the table. “Um...”
He indicated the next one. That pad lifted a small measure with my finger before falling. He nodded, then reached over to his bubbling brew. Pulling out a bit of the molasses-looking material, he crafted another mold, imbuing it carefully with spell materials.
The next pad stuck for half a minute before falling from my fingertip. He smirked and began working in earnest, the solution unlocking before him.
“By the way, that is for you.” He pointed to a new cuff on the table.
I lifted it, examining its parts. I could feel the echo of the field covering the dome. “You made a null cuff?”